


This Room and Everything in It

by that_1_incident



Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F, Sibling Incest, Sister/Sister Incest, Spellcest, and a casual reference to past Zelda Spellman/Penelope Blossom in case anyone's into that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-01
Updated: 2019-03-01
Packaged: 2019-11-07 16:10:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17963798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/that_1_incident/pseuds/that_1_incident
Summary: Although Hilda's prone to following flights of fancy every few decades or so, forging out on her own like a petulant toddler, she typically comes skulking back within a few days at most. Except this time, it's been two weeks.(A continuation of "Chilling Adventures of Sabrina" 1x10, "The Witching Hour.")





	This Room and Everything in It

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from [Li-Young Lee's poem of the same name](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/43328/this-room-and-everything-in-it). 
> 
> More Zilda can be found [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17770205) and [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17884766). 
> 
> I typically don't accept/use prompts because I'm too headstrong of a person, but "Zelda snoops around in Hilda’s new room" from [together-as-sisters](https://together-as-sisters.tumblr.com/prompts) piqued my interest...

_Together as sisters_ , they'd vowed. _Forever and ever_. Yet in her next breath, Hilda dropped the bombshell of "moving out," her initial phrasing sufficiently vague for something inside Zelda's chest to seize before she clarified, "of this bedroom; I think it's time I had a room of my own." 

Zelda suspects that mortal buffoon at her sister's new place of employment has more than a little to do with this sudden proclamation - if not directly then certainly in terms of putting ideas in Hilda's head about autonomy and independence and, Satan forbid, the carnal pleasures of the flesh. The fledgling relationship itself isn't what's bothering her (she's confident it won't last long, and even if it does, the mortal will expire soon enough) but she's decidedly peeved by her sister's latest bid for freedom. Although Hilda's prone to following flights of fancy every few decades or so, forging out on her own like a petulant toddler, she typically comes skulking back within a few days at most. 

Except this time, it's been two weeks. 

\--

Zelda isn't exactly sure what she expects to find when she ventures into the guest room (or, more accurately, the room she refuses to acknowledge as Hilda's despite the fact that her sister's been sleeping there for a fortnight). One thing's for sure: Hilda's a creature of habit, meaning her tchotchkes are laid out much like they were in the room she shared with Zelda, albeit a touch more messily, which is probably Hilda's way of thumbing her nose at her older sister's borderline-obsessive neatness. 

Zelda thoughtfully trails her fingertip over a Victorian trinket box sitting in pride of place on the dresser, a keepsake her sister's had since… well, since the Victorian era. A delicate spider brooch with a ruby body and spindly legs of gold is nestled cozily inside, and - considerable craftsmanship and aesthetic appeal notwithstanding - she's surprised Hilda's held onto it for so long. Ultimately, Hilda grew to despise the woman who gifted it to her, an individual with whom she'd once been quite friendly until Zelda... interfered. Zelda feels a tingle between her legs at the memory of the redhead strapping on the most delectable accoutrement and proceeding to service her so thoroughly that she couldn't walk for a few days thereafter without feeling a decidedly pleasurable pain.

She bites her lip at the reminder, closes the lid of the trinket box, and moves on.

\--

Hilda’s seemingly unquenchable taste for romance novels was so maligned by her sister over the decades that she'd taken to squirreling away some of the most tawdry examples beneath her bed in their shared room, not out of shame but rather a desire to sidestep the inevitable rage-flushed cheeks (Hilda) and catty comments (Zelda) that usually led to the former storming off in a huff and reading in the parlor. Of course, she'd always return a few hours later, eager to smooth over their schism the best way she knew how, and their initially soft sighs and sweet kisses would inevitably turn into something darker and rougher, something that would cause bitemarks and bruises to bloom on the soft insides of Zelda's thighs by the time the two of them awoke the next morning.

And now, Hilda seems to be luxuriating in the freedom associated with not having to hide her guilty literary pleasures anymore, at least if the books liberally piled around the room are anything to go by. Zelda picks one up between her thumb and forefinger, gazes disparagingly at the front-cover blurb that promises _THE SEXIEST ROMP SINCE ‘FIFTY SHADES’!_ , then sets it back down with a shudder.

\--

Although Zelda has no patience for kitchen witchery - neither the precision it requires, nor the time it demands - Hilda has a passion for it and, annoyingly, a talent. Indeed, she owns almost as many cookbooks as bodice-rippers, all peppered with Post-its marking recipes for everything from child stew to cupcakes. Zelda idly leafs through one, observing the copious margin annotations scribbled in her sister's familiar hand, and while they're mostly instructional in nature ( _TWO eyes of newt are BEST_ and _DO NOT UNDERCOOK!!!_ ), there's one that inexplicably causes a lump of emotion to take up residence in her throat. The words _Zelda's FAVOURITE!_ are written in Hilda's characteristically loopy scrawl, and there's a little heart drawn underneath.

\--

"Zelds?"

Zelda turns to find her sister standing in the doorway, a curious expression on her countenance. "Hilda," she responds flatly, affecting an air of detached acknowledgement more suited to an unexpected encounter with a mild acquaintance on the street.

"Erm…" Hilda seems almost amused, which makes Zelda feel instantly and inexplicably irritated. "Did you... want something?"

"Not particularly, why?"

"Well, you're..." Hilda gestures vaguely at their surroundings. "You're in my room."

Zelda rolls her eyes. "It's not _your_ room, Hilda, it's the guest room."

"It _is_ my room," Hilda asserts, crossing her arms, "and you're in it without my permission."

Zelda feels her cheeks heat up and her heart rate quicken at Hilda’s chastisement. "And what, pray tell, are you going to do about it?" she inquires coolly. 

"Doing absolutely nothing would be the worst punishment of all, wouldn't it, sister?" Hilda replies rhetorically, her gaze lingering on the pearls of her sister's necklace in a steady, searching manner that makes Zelda's cunt clench. "Admit it, Zelds; you want me to come back."

Zelda sniffs. "There's a certain… stillness… without you," she concedes stiffly.

"No." Hilda walks purposefully toward her and grabs her none too gently by the aforementioned pearls. "You want me _back_."

A white-hot pool of arousal announces its presence at the apex of Zelda's thighs. "Sister…"

Hilda withdraws her hand as abruptly as she'd extended it, and Zelda whines before she can stop herself. "You made it so intolerable for us to cohabitate, but you regret that now, don't you? All those comments about my keepsakes, my books." Hilda eyes her sister pityingly and tuts, "You didn't know what you had until it was too late."

She's hardly looking for confirmation, yet Zelda nods anyway, head muzzy with desire, pulse throbbing between her legs.

"And you miss me." Hilda's voice is suddenly gentle as her fingers lightly snake along Zelda's forearm to caress the soft fullness of her sister's bicep. Zelda swallows hard at the sensation of her sister traversing her collarbone before arriving once again at her pearls, clasping them thoughtfully for a few moments while an exquisite tension asserts itself in the air. "And you _miss_ me," Hilda repeats, her tone now steely, and although Zelda opens her mouth to reply, her throat is too dry to make a sound.

One swift, violent tug later, the pearls are flying everywhere with an almighty clatter as Hilda pushes her back against the dresser, and she gasps at the sensation of the trinket box digging roughly into her back. "I do, sister," she admits hurriedly without further evasion. "I - I want - it isn't right without you."

"So you'll treat me nicely, then?" Hilda demands. "At least more nicely than you have been?"

Zelda feels her lower lip tremble and wills herself to hold it together. "I'll try," she offers, hoping Hilda understands that's the most she can reasonably promise, and judging by the hard press of her sister's thumb against her center, Hilda deems the answer acceptable.

"We should give this room a proper send-off, shouldn't we?" Hilda muses, and Zelda feels her flushed cheeks grow fiery. 

"Whatever you think is best, sister," she acquiesces demurely. 

Hilda very intentionally widens her stance in response, and Zelda promptly reaches beneath her dress with a slightly shaking hand. "Deep breaths," Hilda tells her encouragingly, albeit a bit too patronizingly for her liking - a choice that was likely deliberate on Hilda's part. Nonetheless, Zelda obliges by taking a moment to gather herself before slipping a finger into her sister's delicious heat. 

Hilda's head falls forward onto her shoulder as she establishes a rhythm that she finds herself having to put considerable effort into maintaining once her sister begins noncommittally toying with her own swollen clit, using her thumb and forefinger in a manner that echoes Zelda's earlier book perusal. Zelda wonders if her sister had been watching her, if she's mimicking the motion on purpose, and no sooner does the thought cross her mind, Hilda pinches her just right and she cries out. 

"Not yet, sister," Hilda warns, and Zelda forces herself to focus on serving her sister the way she should, on deferring her own pleasure until Hilda comes against her hand. Thankfully, she doesn't have to wait long to hear the telltale noises that portend Hilda's imminent climax, at which point she adjusts the pace of her ministrations accordingly, revels in the gorgeous sounds of her sister falling apart, then fondles Hilda through the aftershocks while her sister gasps against her skin, lips dry from exertion, breaths halting and uneven. 

Once Hilda recovers her senses, her cadence slowly resumes; when her fingers dip down into her sister's sodden folds, Zelda thrusts her hips forward in desperation and begs beseechingly, "Sister, _please_." (She's fully aware that she's casting aside her last shreds of dignity in the process, but something about the feeling of Hilda grinning ferally against her clavicle renders her wholly unable to care.)

"Now," Hilda commands, and as if on cue, Zelda's vision whites out.

**Author's Note:**

> Vis-a-vis that oblique mention of Zelda Spellman/Penelope Blossom, I have it on good authority that the venerable [skatingsplits](https://archiveofourown.org/users/skatingsplits) is presently writing a much more thorough exploration of that pairing. Get excited.


End file.
